Of Life and Love
by Cynthia Salander
Summary: Love cannot be contained within 26 letters. But how about a try? Mondler.
1. A to D

_A/N: So you see that I've changed my penname… Yeah, the extra 'y' in 'Cindyy' irked me to no end. And also, for the sake of simplicity, uniformity, and reader preference, I've changed the alignment in all my 'fics from centered to left._

_This story is dedicated to three people who've encouraged me through all my series - __**gAnGsTa GaBbY lOvEs JoKeR**__, __**Emily J**__, and __**Veridissima. **__You've no idea how much your reviews mean to me. Thank you for the continuous support! :)_

**Of Life and Love**

**Chapter 1**

"_I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once."_

-John Green, _The Fault in Our Stars_

**~.~Air~.~**

"I thought I'd lost you forever," Chandler murmurs against her hair.

Monica holds him tightly. 'Wonderful Tonight' plays in the background, but they are no longer aware of it. They stand still in the middle of their living room, with the candlelight casting a yellow glow on the walls. The walls shimmer in the light, looking almost kaleidoscopic through her tear-filled eyes. She brushes her lips against his. "I am sorry." She shakes her head, allowing the tears to fall.

She is sorry for the heartache that she'd caused him, caused _them_. She is sorry for nearly letting him go. She is sorry for almost letting them down.

She draws back and meets his eyes, the same blue eyes that she'd fell in love with, now shining with tears. "I love you," she murmurs, her gaze holding his. She'd said these three words to him a million time, but for some strange reason, they've always seemed insufficient to encompass what she feels for him. "So much," she whispers, her voice cracking as she says it.

His lips curve into a small smile, the smile that is meant for her and her alone. In that moment, she knows that nothing in the past matters. In that moment, she knows he loves her as much as she loves him, even without him saying so. But that doesn't deter him.

His hand moves from the small of her back to her face. He wipes her tears away even as he smiles through his own. His other hand removes her arms from around his neck and brings her fingers to his lips. He kisses her knuckle, just below the finger onto which he'd just slipped a ring. "I love you, too." His own tears tumble down his cheeks, but he doesn't bother to brush them off. "So much."

She stands on her toes again and kisses him on the lips. She suddenly feels short of air, but as long as she is in his arms, everything would be alright. As imperative as it was for living, she could live without it.

He is her air.

~.~

**~.~Baby~.~**

He holds the cigarette to his lips, watching the smoke as it fills the dark black night around him. _This _is his fresh air. He holds the cigarette tightly in between his fingers. _This _is the sixth finger he never had.

The doctor's words resonate in his brain. _The chances of you and Monica conceiving a child together is very, very low._ He exhales a puff of smoke.

It is unfair. It is all unfair.

At first, it'd been only for the sake of Monica. He hadn't been that keen on having a baby. But as days passed, the idea of a baby, _their_ baby, became easier to imagine, more exciting to think of and made him as happy as it made her.

It would have been their baby, a part of him and her.

But life had its own plan, and it did not include their happiness.

She had told him that she felt sleepy and had went to bed, but as he sits now in the balcony, in the middle of the night, he knows she is still awake, eyes closed, tears seeping through the corners of her closed eyelids.

He takes a deep drag and holds it in for a moment.

He had promised Monica that he wouldn't smoke. But he had promised her that he would always keep her happy, too, and he had failed in that respect. So what difference did this make?

"It's not good for your sperm count, y'know?"

He turns his head as he hears her voice. She looks tired and haggard. Her hair looks mussed from bed. Her eyes are red-rimmed.

"Says who?" He stubs the cigarette out, watching her as she sits beside him.

She shrugs, leaning her head on his shoulder. He holds her close, and he feels her tremble against him a few seconds later.

Nothing he could ever say can ease her grief. So he allows her to cry on his shoulder, his own throat burning with tears that he cannot shed, not with her beside him.

He speaks when she finally runs out of tears. "I am going to get us through this."

His voice holds a quiet determination that she had never heard from him, but in this moment of despair, nothing comforts her. She nods against his chest, not quite believing him.

"I _will_ get us through this, Mon," he repeats, the conviction in his voice unwavering. "You know, right?"

She pulls back from his embrace and looks up at him. One look at his confident face fills her with a sense of safeness. She nods again, breathing through the pain in her heart. "I know."

~.~

**~.~Crave~.~**

She craves his touch, she craves his kisses.

She craves him.

Her brother sleeps outside his bedroom and they both know that she has to leave before the sun rises. She should have left fifteen minutes back.

She tries to rise from the bed now, kissing him slowly for one last time. She sits up on the bed, only to be pulled back by him, against him.

"Don't go," he whispers, holding her tightly.

The smile on his lips and the pleading look in his eyes almost convince her. She forgets about Ross for a moment and allows him to pull her closer to him as he moves forward to kiss her.

Then she hears the boxes being moved around, and someone muttering about how heavy they are. Her brother is awake.

She pulls back abruptly, holding the sheets to her chest. "We cannot do this now, Chandler," she admonishes him, searching for her clothes on the floor quickly.

But he smiles at her calmly, and gets hold of her arm.

Her eyes widen in surprise when he pulls her back down next to him, moving on top of her, pinning her beneath him.

"Chandler, I really, _really_ don't thi-" she starts, but he cuts her off with a kiss.

He pulls back leisurely a few moments later. "But, Mon, it's probably just Joey."

On any other day, she'd have tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but now she lies beneath him, enjoying the warmth of his skin. She wonders about the sensibility of her action, but she doesn't care. Not when this feels _this_ right. "I think we both know it's Ross." She hooks her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

"Ok." He nods, grinning. "But we both also know that you cannot leave as long as he's still outside, awake." He brushes her hair from her face and strokes her cheek.

It's their very own rendition of _'Baby, it's Cold Outside'_, a daily morning ritual. She would have usually thought of a good plan to get herself out of his apartment, but today, she feels the urge to stay in his embrace.

She knows why. Only, she cannot tell him.

"Touché," she whispers back, tilting his chin as she leans in to kiss him.

He obliges happily. Unknown to her, he feels the same urge and he knows exactly why.

He craves her, too.

~.~

**~.~Daniel~.~**

He watches as his wife sleeps, tired from all the painful hours that she'd spent in trying to bring their son into the world. She deserves it, he concludes, as he glances down at his son in his arms.

The little boy looks up at him with bright blue eyes, staring straight into his, rarely blinking. Chandler chuckles as the baby yawns slowly and contently before resuming the staring contest.

They hadn't decided on a name yet. They had been too careful not to get their hopes up. The fear of losing the baby had kept them from getting too attached, and that included not picking a name before the baby was born. They hadn't even known the sex of the baby.

But as he holds his son now, he knows that he would even give his own life to protect his baby. He feels the same sense of happiness and protectiveness that he'd felt when he'd first held Jack and Erica. He knows he'd never let anything hurt his children.

There is a knock on the door, and Phoebe enters a moment later, carrying his firstborns. The twins, who are now a year old, run towards their father as Phoebe places them on the ground. "They want to see their brother," she says, her voice hushed, and leaves out the door, smiling.

"Da!" exclaims Erica, lifting her hands up for him to lift her.

He laughs as he stands up, moving towards the bassinet near Monica's bed. He places the baby in it, watching him yawn again. He then bends down to lift Erica and Jack, each in one arm. They climb into their dad's arms eagerly.

He brings them near the bassinet, watching the looks on their face – curiosity on Jack's, fascination on Erica's. He points with his finger, at the baby. "That's your baby brother," he tells them, wondering whether they can understand. "Baby brother," he whispers again, suddenly feeling nostalgic. He had thought this day would never come.

"Bubby," Jack repeats with a self-assured nod.

Chandler laughs again. "That's right. It's a baby."

"Daniel."

He turns to see Monica, now half-sitting on the hospital bed. He smiles at her widely. "What?"

"It's their baby brother Daniel," she explains, smiling back.

He looks at her, knowing that he had never seen Monica look happier. He feels like his own heart is about to burst.

He realizes that his heart is beating only for these four in the room.

Life wasn't so cruel, after all.

~.~.~

_A/N: Okay, I think you can now see where I am taking this. This is more like ABC's of Mondler love. _

_26 is a very weird number. You can either divide it into two parts, each containing 13 segments, or into 13 parts, each containing 2 segments, neither of which are my preference. So I'll be doing about four or five segments per chapter, which means that the series would be around 6 chapters long. _

_So, how do you like this so far? Should I continue?_


	2. E to H

_A/N: **Shyfighter, Dvgirl98, Emily J, Mia Fitzpatrick, Veridissima, regina-phalange29, anon** and** ScandalousScavos**: thank you! I am glad you guys are enjoying this story :)_

_In this chapter, 'Eclipse' is a slightly modified version of a story that I borrowed from one of my really good friends. It was just too adorable not to be written. _

'_Glasses' is an idea that was suggested to me by **Stephy-Lou Clark-Weasley** (Thank you :))_

**Of Life and Love**

**Chapter 2**

"_What she had realised was that love was that moment when your heart was about to burst."_

-Stieg Larsson, _The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo_

**~.~Eclipse~.~**

This cannot be called a 'date', he is certain about that. A date would be when two people agree that they are in a relationship, or if they at least want to try and see whether there is a possibility of a relationship, and _their 'relationship' _is neither.

His thumb strokes her knuckles gently, as they walk hand-in-hand in Central Park, after returning from the movies. It's just like any other evening they might have had before London, only their hands wouldn't be entwined and she would not be walking this close to him.

"So, did you like the movie?" Monica asks him when he pulls her further close to him, despite the warmth of the September night.

"I'd have preferred Nicolas Cage with some pants on." He shrugs. "But yeah, it was alright."

She grins when he leans in and presses his lips against the side of her head. "Yeah, it was alright," she concurs.

He looks up at the sky, wondering what had happened to all the stars in the New York night sky. "You can't see stars in New York," he observes finally.

She looks up to see whether it's true. "I don't think I can see the moon, either. Is it a new moon day?" She frowns a second later, and points at the sky with her index finger. "Do you see that?"

He follows her gaze, and sees it. "Wow," he breathes as they come to a standstill. His eyebrows rise in recognition. "Oh, my god, Mon, it's the lunar eclipse!"

His eyes are filled with amazement and awe, and his lips slowly curve into a huge smile, like he'd just discovered something that mankind has never heard of before. She can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I guess," she murmurs, looking at his upturned face. She looks again at the sky, at the ghost of the moon, with its orange glow more prominent than she had ever seen before. "It's beautiful."

She glances at her watch, realizing that it's getting late. She begins to walk, only to be pulled back, since he's still rooted to the spot. She tugs his hand. "Chandler, we need to get going. It's getting late. Others might wonder where we are."

"Mon, it's the lunar eclipse!" he repeats, like he's not even heard what she'd just said, the excitement in his face still evident.

"I know, but we've gotta-" she starts, but he turns away from her, moving towards a nearby bench, pulling her along with him.

"Sir, ma'am," he greets an elderly couple on the bench and points at the sky, much to Monica's surprise and embarrassment. "It's the lunar eclipse."

The couple looks at him confused. After a lapse of five seconds, the man frowns. "Come again?"

Chandler grins at them widely and points at the sky again with his hand that is entwined with Monica's. "Lunar eclipse."

"Chandler," Monica hisses discreetly, tugging his hand in a futile attempt to get them out of the park.

He casts her a wicked smile. The fact that it irks her so much amuses him further. They hear an 'Oh, yeah' from the couple on the bench and before the couple can say anything more, Chandler moves towards a middle aged man, coming along their path. He stops the man by blocking his way. "Sir, did you notice? It's the lunar eclipse." He points at the sky again, his grip on her hand tightening. By now, he is so familiar with the position of the moon that he doesn't even look up.

The man removes the headphone that he's wearing and looks at them wearily. "What?"

"Chandler…" She tugs his hand again, nearly succeeding in pulling him away. But at the last minute, he pulls her towards him, wrapping an arm around her waist

"People need to know," he tells her, and looks at the man. "It's the lunar eclipse, sir."

Yet again, before the man can respond, Chandler moves away from him and towards his next victim, dragging Monica along with him.

She knows only one surefire to shut him up, and even that, she'd only learned in London, just a couple weeks back. So she does it, hoping it would work.

He realizes just how true their friends are, when they say 'Monica is freakishly strong'. Before he could understand what's happening, she pulls him towards her forcefully. She stands on her toes, clasping her arms around his neck. She leans in and whispers against his lips, "Chandler, you need to shut up."

He closes the miniscule gap between their lips within a fraction of a second, feeling her smile against his lips.

It worked!

She pulls back, pecking his lips twice. "It's the lunar eclipse," she murmurs, smiling at him as her eyes rise to gaze into the sky.

"Yeah, it's beautiful," he whispers back, looking at her.

~.~

**~.~Fall~.~**

"I told you it'd be too cold." Monica glowers at Chandler as they walk towards their building, after attending his office Christmas party.

"I thought it'd be romantic to walk while it snowed!" Chandler defends himself. "You know, you shouldn't even be complaining now that you're wearing _my_ coat." He points at the coat that she's wearing.

"I wasn't the one who suggested that we walk all the way home from your office."

"I'm not getting into this again." He shakes his head and starts walking towards their building at a faster pace.

She glares at his retreating figure, her fingers unconsciously rotating her engagement ring around her finger. The street is covered with snow, it is freezing and she'd warned him, but no_._ '_It'd be fine, Monica', _she mimics him mentally.

He stops in front of their building abruptly, just as she joins him.

"What now?" she asks him impatiently.

"Yeah, I think it snowed." He points at a patch of black ice.

"You think?" she snaps, looking down at the huge stretch of ice, even though _this_ is not his fault.

"Hmm," he looks at the ice thoughtfully and extends his hand towards her after a few seconds. "Hold my hand."

"Why?" she looks at him dubiously. She knows what he's thinking.

"We'll skate our way through to the front door." He grins at her.

"But what if we fall?" she asks him, concern lining her face.

"No, we will not. It's easy. Come on." He moves to take her hand in his, but she pulls away. For a woman who would go to any extent to win, she wasn't really showing exemplary courage right now. "Mon… Look." He places his feet on the ice and glides across it gracefully, balancing himself by spreading his arms wide. He reaches the front of their building within three seconds.

"Chandler!" she exclaims, unable to believe that he'd left her behind.

"Oh, come on, Monica." He reaches for her hand again, across the ice. "You won't fall. I promise."

She looks at him warily and gives him her hand after a few seconds of hesitation. "How do you know that?" she asks him, her voice petulant.

"Because if you do," he pulls her across the ice, his other hand moving to grasp her arm. She clutches his forearm tightly when he pulls her onto the front steps of their building. He kisses her forehead softly as she stumbles into his arms. "Because if you do, I'll always be there to catch you."

~.~

**~.~Glasses~.~**

"So, what do you really think of the glasses?" He points at his spectacles, looking at his fiancée expectantly.

They are in bed, about to sleep, but he still has his glasses on, and she knows he'd probably try sleeping with them on.

She breathes in slowly, and raises a finger to touch the bridge of his nose, where his glasses rest. "Why shouldn't you wear contacts?"

"You don't like them?" His smiling face takes on an expression of sadness that is so genuine that it tugs at her heart.

She pulls herself closer to him, shaking her head. "Aww, sweetie," she leans in and kisses him on the cheek. "No, I love them. But wouldn't you be more comfortable with contact lenses?"

"This is just simpler." He shrugs, looking at her quietly for a moment. "You too didn't realize anything was different, did you?"

She contemplates lying, but, even through the darkness of the night, she knows he'd see right through her lie. She nods. "I am sorry."

He nods. "Sometimes I feel like Mr. Snuffleupagus," he says, his voice barely a whisper between them.

"Who?" she asks, frowning.

"Snuffleupagus, the woolly mammoth in Sesame Street. The invisible character," he speaks in the same hushed tone, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Chandler…" she murmurs, tears stinging her eyes. She had never known that he feels this way. She moves closer, wanting desperately to convey to him that he is anything but _invisible _to her.

He removes his glasses and places them on the nightstand, and continues softly, "It always made me sad that no one other than Big Bird could see him." He smiles at her sadly, finally meeting her eyes.

She leans across him and retrieves his glasses. She places them on the bridge of his nose again, looking into his eyes, smiling softly. "You look sexy in glasses," she whispers, pushing him onto his back as she moves on top of him, straddling him.

"I look like a geek," he counters, smiling at her effort to cheer him up.

She shakes her head confidently. "No. You're sexy." She leans in to kiss him, hard and long. He responds almost instantly, his hands moving to hold her waist tightly. She pulls back, both of them breathless. "You're not invisible to me," she murmurs, her breath hot against his cheek. Her voice is filled with a passion that only Monica could possess.

"I know," he whispers back, moving to remove her nightdress.

But she stops him. She frames his face, urging him to meet her eyes. "You are not invisible to me, Chandler," she murmurs again. She leans to brush her lips against his, breathing against his lips, "You're my world."

~.~

**~.~Hug~.~**

"Hey, Mon!" Chandler enters her apartment cheerfully, only to find it empty. "Monica?" he tries again, but still nothing.

Her bedroom door is half-open and he wonders whether she is in there. But if she is, why isn't she answering?

He shrugs. No harm in trying. He knocks on the door once and enters. "Moni-" he stops abruptly on seeing her.

Her face is tearstained, and she sniffs uncontrollably. She waves her hand at him in a gesture that he doesn't quite understand. When he slowly moves near her, she shakes her head. "Go away, Chandler," she croaks, lying down on the bed, burying her face in her pillow.

He is stuck between the bed and the threshold, and he doesn't know whether he should obey her order and leave her alone or if he should trust his instinct and comfort her. He had come to tell her that he is back again with Janice, but now, he no longer remembers the reason behind this visit.

Finally he decides to trust his instinct. He moves towards the bed and sits on the edge gingerly. "Mon, what's wrong?" he asks her softly, stroking her hair. She just shakes her head again.

He, in general, is uncomfortable around crying women. And if it is one of his friends, his discomfort increases at an exponential rate, which accentuates his inarticulacy. He feels it currently, as he helplessly watches her cry. Her back moves as though she is struggling for breath and this alarms him. "Monica…" he trails off, stroking her back. He moves to lie down beside her, his hand ceaselessly stroking her back.

She stops crying only after several minutes. Her breathing becomes rhythmic, and he wonders whether she'd fallen asleep. But she turns her head towards him slowly. Innumerable red cracks in her blue eyes, he could see her grief right through them, without her help. "I broke up with Richard," she whispers, her voice cracking as she says 'Richard', fresh tears springing to her eyes.

He is too stunned to react. All he comes up with is "Oh."

Her hands move to grasp his shoulders as she leans in to place her head on his chest.

He wraps his arms around her in a hug, feeling suddenly protective. He kisses her hair lightly, trying not to concentrate on her warm tears that are permeating his shirt. "It'll be alright, Monica," he says softly. He does not ask her for the reason. He does not want her to relive it. But she tells him anyway.

"He said he didn't want to have children." She sniffs again. "But you know how I…" she trails off, unable to complete her statement.

"I know, Mon." He nods. He knows, he really does. He can see it from the way she looks at Ben. The love and yearning for motherhood that she feels, he wonders whether he'd feel so passionately about anything at all.

He struggles to find the words to comfort her, but as she cries against his chest, he decides that it is best to let her cry. Heartache demands to be felt. "It's going to be alright," he promises again.

She nods against his chest slowly. She pulls away from him suddenly and sits up, wiping her tears away. "You wanted to tell me something?" she asks him, her hands continuously working at her eyes.

The end of her relationship juxtaposes with the beginning of his, and he doesn't know whether this is the right moment to tell her that. He decides against it after a few seconds. "Nothing. Just came by to see whether you wanted to go to the coffeehouse."

She shakes her head, lying down on the bed again. Her body begins to tremble as he places his arm around her.

"It will be OK, Monica," he repeats for the third time, feeling like an idiot for not being able to say anything better. Even Joey would have had something more effective than 'it will be OK', to say.

She nods, without lifting her head.

She speaks again after what feels like an hour, her words muffled against the pillow. "Chandler?"

"Yeah, Mon." He tightens his embrace, his voice taking on a soothing tone.

"When we're forty, if neither of us are married…" she trails off. She turns her head and meets his eyes.

In that moment, his heart thumps against his chest, and he doesn't understand why. But he nods slowly, with conviction. He leans in to place a kiss on her forehead. He murmurs against her skin, "You and I get together and have one."

~.~.~

_A/N: That thing about Snuffleupagus is Matthew Perry's actual statement. Not the 'invisible' part, but the part about how it always made him sad that only Big Bird could see Snuffleupagus._

_Oh, and did you see him in that 'The Good Wife' episode? God, he's so hot as the bad guy! :D_


	3. I to K

_A/N: Hi, I'm back! :)_

_Sorry it took so long to update! This chapter covers only 3 letters, but all the parts are quite long, so I guess it'll be alright. I know 'Forever and a Day' hasn't been updated in, like, forever (pun intended), but I promise that it'll be completed within this month._

**Of Life and Love**

**Chapter 3**

"_You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not."  
><em>―Jodi Picoult, _My Sister's Keeper_

**~.~Irony~.~**

"Thank you for coming," Monica says to some woman whom he does not recognize.

His _wife's_ face glows in a way only a truly happy woman's would. He smiles at the thought that it's him who'd made her happy.

"Congratulations, man!" Joey slaps him on the back, grinning widely. "But you do remember my advice, though, right?" he asks, suddenly frowning.

"Whispering 'you should never marry someone so much hotter that you' in the groom's ear, while he's standing with his bride on the altar," Chandler shakes his head, "is not _advice._"

Joey shrugs insouciantly, pointing at Monica, who is coming towards them. "Believe it or not, buddy, _that_ woman is _way_ out of your league. You just got hell of a lot lucky here." Something distracts Joey from the glare that he's receiving, and his eyes widen as he points and says, "Oh, hey, they're serving food!" With that, Joey ends his conversation with his best friend, and moves away, still wearing his ridiculous tennis outfit.

Monica shakes her head as she watches Joey's retreating figure. "His two best friends just got married and all he cares about is food." She looks at Chandler. "I envy the Tribbiani metabolism."

"Yeah, we all do." Chandler chuckles as he turns towards his new wife, his arms encircling her waist. "I'm sorry I pulled down your mom's skirt." He looks off into the distance for a moment and looks at her again. "That's one statement I never thought I'd say."

"And that's one statement I never thought I'd hear," she replies without missing a beat, but shrugs it off. She loops her arms around his neck and leans into him, giving him her secret smile. "Hey, um… do you wanna try dancin' one last time? Before we, you know…?" She slips her fingers beneath his tie and through the gap between the top two shirt buttons, cocking an eyebrow.

He grins, his own fingers dancing along the buttons on the back of her dress. "I'd love to, honey, but I'd rather make mad, passionate love to my wife than try _not_ to look like an idiot on the dance floor." He trails a finger down her back, and she leans into him instinctively.

She smiles lightly when he says 'wife', but shakes her head. "Half the people have already left and the remaining half doesn't have the least interest in what we're doing." In order to emphasize her statement, she points at Joey, who has his food in one hand, while his other is wrapped securely around a rather attractive blonde. "If you're worried about your slippery shoes, we can dance without any footwear."

He frowns, looking at her warily. "How much have you had to drink?"

She laughs lightly, pulling him towards the dance floor. "Come on, Chandler."

"Wait, wait." He stops her as he bends down to remove his shoes and his socks, watching her as she removes her white stilettos. Once he's done, he points at her stilettos exclaiming, "Hey, my dad has those in black!"

She nudges their footwear together with her foot and places a finger on his lips, pulling him towards the dance floor again. "Don't talk about your parents now," she shakes her head. "Or mine," she adds precautiously.

He nods his understanding. He places one hand around her waist, while his other entwines with hers. He raises their intertwined fingers to the level of his shoulder, as they sway slowly to the music.

She notices the improvement in his dancing skill and smiles up at him appreciatively. It takes her a moment to realize that something else is different. "When did you get so tall?" she asks, like she's noticing his height for the first time.

He gives a funny look and answers her seriously. "Around the time I was fifteen… Don't tell me you're noticing it only now."

"No, it just," she shrugs, unable to explain what she feels. She smiles up at him slowly. "It's the perfect height for me to do this," she says, standing on her toes to brush her lips against his.

He grins when she pulls back and leans her head on his shoulder, and they continue to dance, not noticing that the song has changed.

_'Never in a million years' _says his brain, all of a sudden. Not once in a million years would he have thought that this day would happen. Not once before London.

_'You just got hell of a lot lucky here.' _No, it was irony. It was all irony.

She shifts her head on his shoulder and he's suddenly reminded of all the times she'd laughed at him whenever he'd hinted at something more than friendship between them. '_Dream on, Bing_' she'd said once and _this _still felt like a dream.

She pulls back from his shoulder, looking up at him. "I love you," she says, her voice soft, her eyes gazing his. The way she holds his gaze tells him that she does not in the least care about anyone in the room, anyone other than him.

He doesn't know whether 'luck' had had anything to do with it, but he is sure that 'irony' had had its way in their life. Not that he's complaining.

"I love you, too," he whispers back, the people surrounding them turning into a hazy blur, until she is all he can see.

If their children ever ask him what 'irony' means, he'd have to tell them the story of _their_ parents.

~.~

**~.~Jumble~.~**

She hates that word. 'Jumbled'. It represent everything that she hates - disordered, cluttered and confusing. But right now, that's the only word that can succinctly describe her life.

The now two-month-old twins sleep in their bassinet in the nursery peacefully, oblivious to their mother's inner turmoil.

The little pink plus on the stick that she's holding in her hand is something that she'd dreamed of, ever since she knew what the word 'pregnancy' meant. But all she's able to do now is just stare at it, dumbfounded.

Her throat burns with tears, and she struggles to catch her breath. She feels like she'd run a mile. She grabs some tissues and wraps them around the pregnancy test. She throws the stick in the dustbin, leaving the bathroom hurriedly, to go stand near the window. She needs some air.

She wonders whether this is how Chandler feels when he very badly wants to smoke.

It'd taken them two whole months to find a pattern, but she still feels unsettled at moments. Every time the twins cry, she'd find herself thinking whether they were crying for _their_ mother's milk. She'd convince herself with much difficulty that she was as much a mother for her two children, irrespective of whether they came from her womb or not. She'd convince herself that they'd love her, and her alone, as their mother.

But now, she feels overwhelmed and detached, at the same time.

A life _is_ growing in her womb. After all the innumerable days of yearning and dejection, they've succeeded in making a baby together, and all she feels now is a strange constriction of her heart.

She's unsure whether they can handle three children. She's unsure whether _she_ can handle three children.

But that's not all, and she knows it. The thought that scares her the most is a whole other one, one that scares her so much that she'd rather live in a state of denial, than think about it.

What if they lose this baby? How was this child going to survive her 'inhospitable environment'?

She presses her fingers against her closed eyelids, and a moment later, she feels them moisten. It's not just her life that is jumbled, it's her emotions, too.

"Monica?"

She'd not heard him come in. She turns around, surprised, watching him look at her with a look of concern.

He places his briefcase on the floor and moves towards her. "What's wrong?" His frown lines are more prominent than ever.

Back during the days when they were actually trying for a baby, she'd imagined this moment a thousand times, and she'd thought of a hundred million ways in which she'd tell her husband that their cumulative efforts have finally paid off. At this moment, though, no words form in her brain, it's just the tears that are cascading down her cheeks.

"Honey..." he trails off, confusion and bewilderment evident on his face. "What- what's-"

"I'm pregnant, Chandler," she says finally, her voice hoarse and low, tears still tumbling down her face.

He opens and closes his mouth a couples of times, and now it's his turn to struggle to form a response. His heart hammers against his ribs, but he knows that the only feeling coursing through his veins is happiness. He looks out the window, surprised that his own eyes are moistening with tears. He turns towards his wife again and smiles widely, tears glistening in his eyes. "Honey, that's wonderful!" He pulls her into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

She clings to him, hoping to find some comfort in his embrace as she sobs against his chest.

It takes him a few moments to realize that their tears are not of the same kind. "Mon?" he lifts her chin with his fingers, frowning. "Why are you crying? Is something wrong?" When she doesn't answer, he panics, "Did you go see the doctor? Did he say that something's wrong with the baby?"

She shakes her head and places it back against his chest. "I'm scared." Now that she says it out loud, it feels really stupid, almost selfish. She's finally pregnant, and all she's doing now is resenting the fact she is. These tears should have been tears of happiness, but no, here she is, crying like a wimp. She half expects him to say an incredulous 'what?' or at least the usual 'it'll be fine, don't worry', but he surprises her.

"I know."

She looks up at him surprised, and looking at his face, she realizes that he indeed understands her fear. He's thinking about her 'inhospitable environment', too.

"We'll take good care, Mon," he answers the unasked question by placing his palm on her stomach. "Everything's gonna be okay," he says with certainty. He smiles back as she smiles slowly. "Besides, we already take care of two, how hard is two and a half going to be?" If his sperm can do the job, her uterus can, too, he thinks.

Her smile widens now, and she desperately wants to believe his words. She deserves happiness, she deserves it from life, and she will not let this fear ruin it. "I'll call Dr. Connelly to fix an appointment for friday."

"I'll be there," he replies.

They stand there, smiling at each other, the joy of the news finally settling down comfortably in the atmosphere. Their head snaps towards the nursery, when one of the babies starts to cry.

Monica starts towards the room, but he stops her. "I'll take care of it," he says with a smile and leaves for the nursery.

She watches his retreating figure, and smiles again, before heading to the bathroom. She opens the dustbin and bends to fetch the pregnancy test that she'd thrown in the trash earlier. She washes the stick and wraps it with a new set of tissues, for this would go into her drawer.

Maybe it's all jumbled, but she's now certain that she'd have it no other way.

~.~

**~.~Kindle~.~**

"Y'know, with Porsche being a luxury car and all, shouldn't there at least be a little more legroom?" Ross grumbles from the backseat of the Porsche, as his sister drives the car, with his brother-in-law traveling in the passenger seat. They are returning from the funeral of Monica and Ross's uncle, Uncle Murray.

"You're just pissed that you didn't get the car," replies Monica, as she stops her car for Ross to get down.

"Damn right I am," Ross mutters again, getting down, closing the door. "Thanks for the ride, Mon." He kisses his sister on the cheek, and waves goodbye at Chandler before making his way towards his building.

"Are you alright?" Monica asks her husband as she parks the car near their building. Chandler has been surprisingly quiet since the funeral.

"Yeah," he replies distractedly, as they both get out of the Porsche and head towards their building. "It's just..." he runs his fingers through his hair, as though in frustration, but shakes his head finally. "Nah, it's nothing."

The silence persists between them as they climb up the stairs, and Monica turns towards Chandler again. "What's wrong, Chandler? It's not like it was your uncle or anything." Her feeble attempt at humor evokes nothing from her husband, nothing more than a shake of his head.

She shrugs mentally, opening the door to their apartment. He'd tell her, sooner or later.

She goes to their bedroom, to change, while he stops in the living room to check the mail. She's halfway undressed when he enters the room, moving towards his closet in a zombie-like state. She stops undressing, and observes his demeanor for a moment, with apprehension, soon reaching a point where she can no longer take it. "Okay, now you're just freaking me out." She moves towards him swiftly and pulls him towards their bed, with a firm grasp on his arm. "Alright, tell me what's the matter," she demands in a very Monica-esque way.

"Nothing, Mon. I'm fine." He pries his arm from her fingers, with much effort, wincing in pain as he does so.

"Chandler..." she sighs in frustration, shaking her head.

"Okay," he complies finally, sighing in turn as he lies down on their bed. "Yeah, it's bothering me."

"What's bothering you?" she lies down beside him, silently urging him to continue.

"Death," he says, staring at the ceiling. "It seems so..." he shrugs, "so final." He turns to looks at her.

She strokes his cheek with her fingertips and replies with a smirk, "Honey, in case you've missed the point, death _is _pretty final."

He glares at her in annoyance, "You know what I mean."

"I know," she concedes with a nod. "But what can we do? Besides, he was like 90."

"That's not what I'm saying. Yeah, ok, maybe _he_ was 90, but that's not really how it works for other people! Some people die really, really young. Death strikes so suddenly, unexpectedly. Who knows, _I _may die tomorrow."

"Chandler!" She slaps his arm sharply, glaring at him. "Don't ever talk like that. Ever."

"I'm sorry," he sighs again. "It's just, we think we're all capable of evading anything and everything that could harm us, but we forget that fate has something else in store for us. We forget that there's this thing called 'mortality'. But y'know what's even worse? We don't relish the life that we're living. We don't celebrate life for what it's worth," he finishes his monologue, shaking his head at the thought that humanity is missing such a huge point.

She's still pretty pissed at his earlier comment, and she replies with sarcasm, "Well, now that you've gained this epiphany, start _celebrating your life_ from today. Better late than never." She sits up swiftly, and turns to face him again. "Don't ever talk that way, Chandler," she repeats her warning and moves to get up. She goes to her closet and retrieves a shirt and a pair of jeans, and resumes undressing.

He watches his wife with a thoughtful expression, until he abruptly sits up on the bed. "You're right!" he exclaims all of a sudden, looking quite excited.

"What?" she looks at him warily.

"We really should start celebrating our life!"

"_We_?" her voice oozes with skepticism at his use of plural.

"Yes," he nods emphatically. "We should... we should..." he trails off, gesturing by waving his hands in the air, trying to figure out what his 'celebration of life' plan would involve.

"Do you want to go out somewhere maybe?" Monica suggests slowly, moving towards the bed, clad only in a cream-colored slip.

"No," he says, shaking his head, and a second later, the proverbial bulb flashes in his brain. "We should have sex! Now!"

"_What_?" She looks at him incredulously, trying to judge whether he's serious.

"Yes, what better way to celebrate life than having sex?" he asks rhetorically, his gaze turning gentle.

She refers to this particular look of his as his 'bedroom eyes'. It's when his eyes reveal not just the fact that he's aroused, but also the warmth that he feels for her, that beneath all the layers of lust there would always be love. Lust may vanish, but love never will.

But now, she knows that it's not vanishing anytime soon. This look never fails to make her heart flutter, but right now, she's in little mood for sex. It just feels inappropriate to do it just after someone she'd known has been buried. "You're serious?" she confirms again.

"Absolutely." He nods. "I mean, they even say that there's nothing worse than dying without ever experiencing sex."

"Who says that?" she frowns.

"People who've never had sex," he shrugs, looking embarrassed.

She giggles lightly and sits on the bed, next to him. "Chandler, trust me when I tell you this. I don't think you'll be considered a virgin in any part of the world."

"Oh, but you make me feel like a virgin," he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips against her throat.

Her breath catches in her chest as he does so, and she closes her eyes to relish the pleasure that slowly starts to pulse through her body. But it still doesn't feel like the right thing to do. She places a firm hand on his shoulder and pushes him away. "Another pointer: Spouting the lyrics to Madonna songs, when you're in bed with a woman, is not really a great seduction tactic."

He groans as she succeeds in pushing him away, but being the resilient man that he is, he pulls himself closer to her again, and kisses her on the lips. "You've gotta let me try, babe. Some people call it foreplay, but I myself prefer the word 'kindling'."

"Kindling?" She responds to the kiss momentarily, but pulls away a second later. "I'm not really in the mood, Chandler." She shakes her head. "Could we try the 'kindling' thing later? My uncle _just_ died."

"And there's nothing more his soul would want, than for his niece to have sex with her husband!" he argues.

"I really, really doubt that."

"Okay, look. We're supposed to be celebrating our life. _Our _life. Together." He stops speaking, suddenly all levity vanishing from the moment. He places his hand on her cheek, a look of desperation spreading across his features. At the risk of sounding like a corny, horny loser from one of his mother's books, he speaks again softly, and says, "Let me make love to you."

She smiles widely at his awkward proposition to sex. She loves it when he speaks to her like that, his voice soft and caring, his words awkward and sensual, all at once. She lies down on the bed, her hands reaching up to grasp his shirt collar, pulling him down with her. "So, kindling, huh?"

He grins, nodding. "Yeah."

"So what does it involve?" she asks, feeling the weight of his body on top of hers, as their lips meet in a soft kiss.

"A lot less talking," he murmurs before resuming the kiss.

She nods in agreement, the kisses turning more and more heated with each second.

What she doesn't know is that he is still humming 'Like a Virgin' in his head. But what she knows is, there's no better way to _kindle_ the celebration of their life, than this.

~.~.~

_A/N: The part where Chandler says he's sorry about pulling down Judy's skirt (in 'Irony'), is actually a reference to the scene that's uncut in the DVD version (it's pretty funny :D)._

_I hope the timelines are clear for each part. ('Kindle' takes place sometime during season 8.) I'm planning on adding some notes at the end, anyway._

_And finally, there's no new way for me to tell you this, but thank you for those great reviews. You guys are fantastic, amazing, wonderful and (insert all possible positive adjectives found in the dictionary here) and I love you people! Hope you guys liked this chapter :)_

_(And my personal favorite in the last chapter was 'Eclipse' :))_


	4. L to O

_A/N: Once again, my huge thanks to all those who reviewed the previous chapter! :D_

_ I'm on such a fanfic high this week! I wrote half of this part long back, so I just thought I'd complete it and post it before I complete chapter 2 of 'Pretend'._

_**I very strongly suggest reader discretion for 'Okay' – it contains content regarding **__**stillbirth**__**.**_

_I'd say that the scene is pretty disturbing, especially if you'd underwent something like that. If you feel that it'd affect you, I recommend that you skip 'Okay'._

**Of Life and Love**

**Chapter 4**

_"There's some people in this world who you can just love and love and love no matter what."_

― John Green, _An Abundance of Katherines_

**~.~Love~.~**

"Hurry!" Monica hisses to Chandler, who is standing behind her bedroom door.

He fiddles with his belt buckle for a second, but on realizing that it's a lost cause, he pulls the belt out in his hand and runs through the living room, keeping low, with Monica following him closely behind.

He runs out the door of apartment 20, his heart beating wildly.

That was close! Rachel isn't supposed be home _this _early.

He stops in his tracks and turns towards Monica's apartment, feeling like he had forgotten something utterly important. Then he realizes what it is.

He hasn't kissed her goodbye.

He opens the door again abruptly, knowing that she's just behind it. She gasps in surprise when he grabs her by her shoulders and presses his lips to hers urgently before he hurries out the door again.

When she's alone again, she smiles widely, skipping a little, like a very happy schoolgirl.

She knows this feeling. She's extremely familiar with it by now. It's what people call _love_, and she's surprised that it feels just as she had imagined it would.

When the euphoria fades away slowly, leaving a gentle afterglow, she pulls out one of the kitchen chairs and sits down, her gaze fixed on the purple door.

She smiles thinking that he has a fondness for this particular routine – leave out the door first, then re-enter and kiss her.

After all, that was how _their_ 'London time' had begun in the first place.

_So much has happened since then_, she thinks nostalgically. _So much._

Since then, she had realized that he's no longer Chandler – the guy who lives across the hall, jokes when he's uncomfortable, always has a really cute smile and a warm embrace, just whenever she needs them.

No, he's now _Chandler,_ _her_ Chandler, who murmurs words of love without actually saying 'I love you' when they make love. He's now _Chandler_, who tells her that he can never remember being happier in his life than he is now, when she's with him, without knowing that she feels exactly the same way about him.

They haven't said their 'I love you's yet, but she feels strangely content and secure with the way things are now. There are no words needed to describe how she feels.

She had shocked herself when she'd first realized that she was falling for him, but now, she knows that that's the best thing to have ever happened to her in her entire life.

Besides, when even the bible says 'love thy neighbor', who is she to deny this feeling?

~.~

**~.~Mother's Day~.~**

Erica, now twelve years old, pulls her mother from the kitchen and into the living room, forcing her to sit down on the couch.

"What's going on?" Monica asks her daughter, trying hard to look surprised.

It's Mother's Day, and it's hard to pretend like you don't know what's happening, when you _clearly _know what's happening.

"Patience is a virtue," Erica tells her mother in a sing-song voice, winking at her playfully on using one of her mom's favorite quotes. With that, she runs off towards her missing brothers, leaving her mother alone.

Chandler, who's leaning against their bedroom door, shrugs as he catches his wife's eye. "Don't ask me," he shakes his head. "They never make this much fuss over Father's Day."

"That's because I'm like the supermom of this household," she says, with no attempt at modesty, "and all _you _do is teach them math."

"And _that's _because, honey, _you _suck at math," he smirks.

"Hey!" she protests. "I do _not _suck at math! Take that back!" she orders him, offended.

"Alright," he raises his hands in apology as he strides over to her. "You're a mathematical genius," he pecks her forehead, rolling his eyes as she smiles, pacified.

"I saw that!" she swats his arm, laughing.

"What?" he asks innocently.

"Oh, nothing," she shakes her head just as innocently and she leans in towards him. "I'll set your pillow and blanket for you on the couch tonight."

"You can try," he says cockily, "but I know you can't sleep without the Chan-love."

Before Monica can respond, their three children enter the living room, carrying a gigantic, gift-wrapped box. She glances at Chandler, bewildered, but he just shrugs back, smiling.

With much difficulty, Jack, Erica, and Daniel lift the cardboard box and hand it to their mother, chorusing "Happy Mother's Day!"

"Thanks, guys!" she smiles back before she starts to unwrap the box with gusto. "Oh, my god!" she exclaims once the box is open.

"It's the Jamie Oliver Tefal professional cookware series," Erica says proudly, impressed with herself for having memorized it.

"I know!" Monica looks up at her children with a huge smile. "Thank you," she murmurs as she lifts a pan. A price tag hangs from the handle, and it reads $849.

Erica's eyes widen, and she snatches the pan from her mother's hand, shooting daggers at her twin. She rips off the price tag as she hisses at him, "Jack!"

Jack scratches his head, looking sheepish. "Sorry," he mutters.

"I love you, mom," Daniel hugs his mother, oblivious to his siblings' embarrassment.

"I love you, too, baby," she pulls the three of them into a hug and smiles as Jack murmurs "We love you, too, mom."

The children leave their mother alone, allowing her admire her newly acquired present. She's still amazed that Chandler had paid $800 for a cookware set.

She turns around and finds her husband near the kitchen sink, slowly doing the dishes. She places all the pans and saucers on the couch, stands up and goes to him. She smiles when she hears him humming 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' under his breath.

She wraps her arms around his waist from behind and kisses his nape.

He glances behind his shoulder, smiling. "Hey, you."

She smiles back. "Just so you know, you're _not_ sleeping on the couch tonight," she murmurs.

"See? What did I tell you?" he leans back and kisses her on the lips.

"Thank you for doing the dishes," she says after a few seconds.

"You're welcome, Mon."

"Thank you for the wonderful gift."

"You're welcome, Mon."

"Thank you for being in my life," she whispers against his shoulder blade.

He turns around and places his wet, gloved hands on her hips and leans in to kiss her again. "I love you, Mon."

~.~

**~.~Neurotic~.~**

"God, you're the definition of neurotic!" he exclaims, watching his friend scrub his kitchen counter with vigor. "I mean, this is not even _your _apartment."

"So?" she looks at him with mild disinterest before she continues scrubbing.

"_So_, hey, why are you in my apartment at 3 o'clock in the morning?"

"Because my apartment is clean," she says as she moves towards his fridge. She opens it for a second and closes it back immediately, gagging. "Are you kidding me?" she stares at him incredulously, pointing at the fridge.

"Why, what's wrong with my fridge?" he asks defensively.

"Chandler, _this,_" she taps the side of the fridge, "is _not _a fridge. It's more like an expensive, cooling trash can."

"Well, it stinks so bad because Kip left behind some stinky tofu crap," he says, noticing her expression change when he mentions Kip's name.

He will kill that guy if he ever sees him again. If not for breaking Monica's heart, at least for making _him _suffer the brunt of Monica's insomnia. "Still, _why_ at 3 o'clock in the morning?"

She sighs, throwing the damp rag on the counter, leaning against it. "I couldn't sleep," she shrugs. "I clean when I can't sleep."

"You can try sleeping here, if you want," he suggests, tilting his head to one side as a gesture of sympathy. "I have a spare bedroom."

"Do you have a spare bed?"

"Oh, yeah," he nods, "Kip left that behind, too. Y'know, now that I think about it, all I want is another roommate _exactly_ like him." When he catches her look, he hurriedly explains, "Not _exactly, _exactly like him. But you know what I mean. A guy who leaves behind all his possessions when things go wrong with his girlfriend." He backs off when her glare intensifies, but shrugs a moment later. "Hey, this is precisely the reason why you don't wake me up at 3 'o clock in the morning."

"I'm sorry," she shakes her head, relenting finally. "I'll go back to my apartment. It's just," she shrugs, "being alone sucks."

"You really can sleep here if you want," he offers again.

She glances at what used to be Kip's bedroom, and decides that sleeping there would bring back too many painful memories. But she doesn't really want to be alone, either. She turns to him, looking uncertain. "Can I sleep in _your _room?"

He gives her a weird look. "Then where will _I _sleep?"

"Right next to me," she shrugs. When his eyebrows climb, she smirks and adds, "I won't take advantage of you while you're asleep, I promise."

He contemplates her request for a few seconds, but shrugs eventually, putting an arm around her shoulder. He would never be the one to say no to sleeping next to a soft, warm and wonderful smelling Monica. "Ok," he nods as they walk towards his bedroom. "But if you see or _feel _something in the morning that you don't really wanna see or _feel_, I'm not responsible."

"God!" she presses her fingers to her eyes, shaking her head in disgust. "I really, really didn't need that mental picture."

"Hey, it's biology!" he says defensively. "All I'm saying is, you cannot hold me responsible if it _does _happen."

"Chandler, if it does happen, trust me, I wouldn't be there beside you the next second," she tells him as they get into his bed.

He pulls the covers over them and wraps his arm around her in a loose hug, kissing her forehead. "Can we sleep now?"

"I guess," she mutters, tossing and turning in his embrace. After several minutes, she nudges him. "Chandler?"

"Yeah, Mon," he mumbles sleepily.

"I still can't sleep. Can I clean your closet?"

"G'night, Mon."

~.~

**~.~Okay~.~**

Monica is still unconscious from the emergency c-section. Her eyes closed, her breathing deep and rhythmic, she sleeps serenely, not knowing what had happened to their little baby girl.

They'd been so happy on discovering that Monica was pregnant again. This was something that they'd thought they would never get to experience even once, but miraculously, it'd happened a second time, just a year after Daniel's birth.

Their happiness had prevailed until last night, until she had complained of an unbearable pain in her abdomen. _Like a million little needles ripping my womb apart, Chandler, _she'd cried, making him admire her eloquence even under such intense agony.

She had been 34 weeks pregnant.

_Erythroblastosis fetalis_ is what the doctor calls it. Any other time, he'd have ignored it as just another fancy, Latin word. But now, those two words are imprinted on his brain.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bing," Dr. Connelly shakes his head sympathetically. "Just one injection a couple of weeks back could have prevented this from happening. We just never suspected it since your wife had such a normal birthing experience with your son." The doctor touches his shoulder. "We tried blood transfusion, but it was too late," he shrugs. "I'm sorry."

He glances at Monica, forcing himself not to cry. He has to be strong for her, for his children.

_Her own blood had killed her baby._ That thought alone is enough to break him down. He gasps, breathing in deeply, scared of the moment when he would have to tell her.

"Mr. Bing," a nurse murmurs gently as she enters the room with a small, white bundler in her arms.

"No," he moves away from her, his tears finally escaping his eyes. "I can't," he shakes his head fiercely, clutching the edge of Monica's bed tightly.

The nurse transfers the bundle into the doctor's arms and leaves the room. Dr. Connelly moves closer to him and offers him the bundle. "Try holding her," he says softly. "It will help you grieve."

His baby. This is his baby.

He can see that pale white, wrinkled skin and the abundant dark hair on her head. Her eyes and fingers are tightly shut, and she looks just as serene as her sleeping mother. Only this is a sleep she would never wake up from.

In spite of himself, his hands reach for his baby, knowing that this would be the last time he would ever get to hold her.

She weighs considerably less than what all his other children had weighed as newborns, lesser even than the twins.

He places a finger on her tiny button nose, wondering whether she would open her eyes, like Daniel always did as a baby.

If she did open her eyes, he is sure that she would have the same baby blue eyes as all her siblings.

He lifts the baby to the crook of his neck, burying his face in the small, limp body as he cries, his wail too loud in the quiet room.

Dr. Connelly turns away, giving him some privacy.

He muffles his sobs against the soft, white cloth that has been wrapped around her thin body, his whole body trembling with grief.

The doctor turns to him eventually and comes closer. "Mr. Bing," he starts slowly, "we could perform an autopsy to see whether-"

"No!" he says harshly, shaking his head, his breathing ragged. "No," he holds his baby possessively to his chest, moving away from the doctor. He will _not _allow them to cut her up. She will be buried just the way she had entered this world – pure, innocent, and whole.

"Ok, I understand," the doctor nods hurriedly, raising his hands. "Ok."

He looks at the doctor warily for a few seconds before he brings down his daughter from his shoulder, to look at her again. He wipes his tears on his shirt-sleeve as he murmurs, "We were going to call her Hannah." He looks up at Dr. Connelly. "It means God's gift."

The doctor nods slowly. "You can still call her that," he says after several seconds.

They take the baby away from him a few minutes later. He sits beside Monica, holding her warm hand in both of his, praying for the strength to face her when she awakens.

An hour later, she feels the warm moisture of his tears trickling over her hand. She opens her eyes with much difficulty, her head turning towards him, ever so slightly.

Her throat feels dry and painful. Her body feels empty.

He opens his own tear filled eyes when he hears her croak in pain. "Mon..." he murmurs, touching her soft hair.

Her eyes travel down towards her belly, which is now much smaller in size than it had been when she'd last seen it. Her eyes suddenly filled with terror, she raises them to meet his, a tear rolling down her cheek. "Hannah," she whispers, the word sounding more like a gasp for breath than a name.

He shakes his head, pressing his face to hers.

That act alone is enough to tell her what had happened.

"It'll be okay," he whispers fiercely against her cheek as she cries, her sobs weak and fragile.

"It _has _to be okay," he whispers again, feeling her tears mingle with his own. "It will be okay, Mon," he repeats his promise to her one last time, before both of them lose their strength to speak.

He knows he's lying, though.

_Okay _is the farthest thing from what he feels now.

~.~.~

_A/N: __**Love:**__ This is based on one of the S5 Mondler moments that I love the most. It's from the episode 'TOW the Inappropriate Sister'._

_**Okay**__: In one of the final interviews of the 'Friends' cast that I saw on Youtube, Courteney Cox mentions that she underwent many miscarriages because she had this problem (at least erythroblastosis fetalis is what I understood it to be). _

_It occurs when the Rh factor of the mother's blood differs from that of the fetus, and its effects are more pronounced only from the second birth, not in the first one. _

_Unlike the old days, technology has advanced so very much that this can be easily diagnosed, and can be made less life threatening to the baby by administering an antibody called 'Rhogam' on the 28__th__ week of pregnancy and during childbirth._

_If you'd like to read more about it, I'd suggest 'The Final Diagnosis' by Arthur Hailey._


	5. P to S

_A/N: To each and every single person who reviewed the last chapter – thank you :)_

_Well, this is probably the sappiest (and the longest) chapter by far in this fic. Maybe I should also add that '__**Questions**__' here is a slightly high 'T'._

_I thank __**WendyCR72**__ for her impeccable beta-ing :)_

_The 'perfectly' perfect Philippa Gregory quote here is not mine to dedicate, but if I could, I'd dedicate it to __**Stephy-Lou Clark-Weasley **__for reminding me how amazing Philippa's works are. May I also add - you are a wonderful writer, and I'm honored to have made your acquaintance here on FFN :)_

**Of Life and Love**

**Chapter 5**

"_When they see us dance. When they see how you look at me. When they see how I smile at you."_

― Philippa Gregory, _The Other Boleyn Girl_

**~.~Parenthood~.~**

"I'm not sure about this. At all."

Chandler can see the panic in his daughter's eyes as she says it.

His baby girl is getting married. And like her father had on his wedding day, she's now panicking on hers.

"Oh, yeah. Been there, done that. You'll be okay, hon. Trust me," Emma murmurs as she kneels down to smooth the bride's dress. "Uncle Chandler, could you give me a hand with this?"

"Sure," he nods at his niece and kneels down beside her, looking up at his daughter. "It's okay to feel this way, Erica."

"Are you sure, Dad?" she glances down at him worriedly. "Because I'm not so sure. Is it normal to feel like I'm going to pass out any second now?"

"Okay, it's my turn next," Emma stands up and then helps her uncle do the same. "You're really, _really_ going to be fine. All right?" she kisses her cousin on the cheek and mumbles 'I love you' before she rushes away from the three of them to enter the wedding hall as the Matron of Honor.

"Oh, God," Erica fans herself melodramatically.

"It really is okay, sweetie," Monica places a comforting hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You'll be fine. Every bride goes through this. God knows how terrified _I_ was on my wedding day."

"You were?" Chandler asks, surprised.

"You have no idea," Monica shakes her head. "I didn't take off or anything," she adds, smirking, "but I was scared all the same."

"You know I never meant to hurt you, right?" he asks her, suddenly worried. "Actually _that_ was the reason why I took off. I never wanted to hurt you, Monica, and I was scared to death that I'd screw up everything that I ever cared for, if we became the 'Bings'." He sighs, taking his wife's hand in his and pressing a kiss to her palm. "I'm really sorry, Mon."

"I'm just glad you came back, Chandler," she smiles softly.

"Of course I came back, I love you!"

Before Monica can reply, Erica interrupts. "Mom, Dad, I want to thank you two for your unwavering focus on _me_ on my very special day," she smiles at them, a combination of fear and sarcasm lacing her words.

Her parents turn to her, kissing a cheek each in apology.

"You love Will, and he loves you," Chandler says gently, placing a kiss on Erica's forehead. "We know that, we can see that. And you know it, too."

Erica closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Okay, yeah, I do know that, you're right," she nods. After a few short seconds of silence, she looks at her father again. "I won't mess this up?" she asks slowly, and he's suddenly reminded of a six-year-old Erica being terrified that her mother would be mad at her for accidentally breaking a decade old glass vase.

"Can you give me ten reasons why you love Will?" he asks his daughter, smiling when she nods again.

"I can give you more than ten, Dad," she smiles at him, her blue eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

"Well, there's your answer," he grins back.

The profoundness of the moment strikes him at that second. These are the last few moments where his daughter would be just that – his daughter. Tomorrow, she'd be another man's wife. But at this moment, she's his and his alone.

He wraps an arm around the two women who mean more than life to him and brings them closer to his chest, holding them tightly in his arms for one last time before he'd become a father-in-law.

"You have no idea how much I love you," he mumbles to them both.

"I love you, too," they both murmur back as he pulls away from them.

"Okay, this is the big moment!" Monica grins excitedly, her eyes bright and shiny.

"Yeah," Erica whispers, linking one arm with her father's and the other with her mother's as the three of them begin to walk into the wedding hall and down the aisle. She smiles at her soon-to-be husband and turns to her parents again. "Y'know, I blame you guys for the panic attack." She kisses her mother's cheek and then her father's as they look at her, bemused. "You two have raised my expectations of marriage to ridiculous levels." Before she moves to join her fiancé on the altar, she pulls back and looks at her parents again. "Thank you for showing me how a marriage should be," she smiles. "Thank you for teaching me what love is."

~.~

**~.~Questions~.~**

"Just so you know, _this _is not a 'normal' occurrence in my everyday life," he whispers to her, breathless, running a finger along her jaw line to her throat, leaning in to brush his lips against the curve of her neck, noticing how her breath hitches, how she quivers against his touch.

Four times. Four freaking times. And it'd soon be five – they both know that, and that's what he's referring to.

All he can wonder now is why the hell it'd taken them so long to do this.

Shouldn't sex between friends suck? Is it okay to have sex that is this amazing with a good friend? Or are _they_ not good friends?

No, no, that cannot be the case. They are the _best _of friends. It has to be something else. And maybe that 'something else' would explain this strange, fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach.

She laughs softly, even though she knows that his statement wasn't meant as a joke. She pushes him back against the bed and leans against him. "Well, in that case, I can tell you that this is not a normal occurrence in my everyday life, either."

The actual Monica in bed is utterly different from the Monica that he sometimes dreams (fantasizes) about.

The Monica of his dreams (fantasies) is 'in control' and bossy, true to her outside-the-bedroom self that he'd seen for the past ten years, and even _she_ never failed to turn him on.

But this Monica, the one whom he has in his arms now, is soft, warm, giggly and delicious – 'Turned on' cannot even begin to describe what he experiences when they make love.

"How did you get this?" she asks, touching a scar on his shoulder lightly, bringing him back to reality.

He hesitates for a few seconds, watching her as she silently urges him to tell her. He finally relents.

"When I was seven, I hid under a table, wanting to find out whether my parents would search for me if I went missing," he sighs. "They didn't even _realize _that I was missing. When two hours became three, I started crying, and then I got bored and decided to come out from under the table, but banged my shoulder against the sharp edge in the process." He winces at the memory, and she winces with him. "And, thus, the scar," he finishes, smiling.

"It must have been a really bad wound to have left a scar like this, Chandler," she murmurs, trailing her forefinger along its length.

"It was," he shrugs. He closes his eyes when she leans in to brush her lips against it.

She isn't drunk anymore, he knows that. She hadn't been too drunk to begin with, and now she's completely sober.

The fact that a completely sober Monica has her lips pressed against his bare shoulder takes his breath away.

Placing a hand under her hair, he coaxes her face up to his, and she slides up a few inches and leans down to kiss him on the lips. His fingers trace a path along the ridges of her spine to her navel, drawing light circles on her skin.

She laughs, pulling away. "That tickles," she whispers, smiling.

She peers into his eyes, and he holds her gaze, unwavering. A few shades darker than his own, he sees something in her blue eyes that he doesn't remember seeing in a very long time – she's content; she's happy.

_He_ has made her happy.

A million questions swirl around in his head, a million questions that need to be answered – Where is this headed? Would this night mean anything once the sun rises? Does this mean to her as much as it means to him?

He doesn't know, and at this instant, he doesn't care.

The happiness that he feels at this moment is pure, real, simple. They could answer those million questions later.

This night is about _them._ _Them _alone.

~.~

**~.~Rugged~.~**

"I hate men," she declares, accepting the low-cal soy milk ice cream (which he'd aptly nicknamed 'crappy ice cream') that he offers her. She knows he'd stolen it from her freezer.

Rachel is out on a date with Joshua, Joey is out on a date with the girl-of-the-week, which leaves them both alone together in apartment 20, which, much to Monica's vexation, is now the guys' apartment. Adding to that is the fact that Joey and Chandler are acting as The Hosts. That's her thing – taking care of people. So in addition to stealing her apartment, they'd stolen her title as the hostess, too. _Rotten bastards._

But now, she's glad that he's home, that he's ready to act as the host, and that he's willing to provide the attention that she seeks.

"I know wonderful men like me are a rare breed, Mon," he says immodestly, taking his seat at the other end of the couch, "but what did this guy do? I mean, you were really excited about this date."

"Chandler, it was six months since I _had_ a date, of course I was excited! Hell, I'd have been excited if _Joey_ had asked me out on a date!" She wipes the dribbling ice cream from the corner of her mouth and licks her fingers, watching him as he tries hard not to laugh. "You can laugh if you want," she nods.

That's a trick statement. He knows she'd bite is head off if he laughs. He simply shakes his head, smiling. "What did he do?" he asks again.

She sighs, placing the ice cream on the coffee table. "He took me to Austin Powers," she pauses to look at him, "you know that that's worse than taking a woman to Die Hard, right?"

He bites his cheeks and nods. "Yeah."

"And then he drove me home, walked me up to-"

"Wait, what about dinner?" he interrupts.

"Oh, he bought me a bucket of popcorn at the concession stand," she shrugs. "You really can laugh if you want," she adds, observing that his cheeks are turning pink.

He shakes his head again. "Continue."

"So he walked me up to my apartment," she points at the door.

"_**My**_ apartment," he corrects her.

"Fine, _**your **_apartment!" she snaps, glaring at him. "Anyway," she continues a second later, "he walked me up to _your _apartment, backed me against the door, kissed me-"

"That doesn't sound so bad-"

"-pushed his tongue into my mouth, and when he pulled back, he asked, 'So, when do I get to see you naked?'."

And that is his breaking point.

Before he can stop himself, he lets out a loud snort of laughter, quickly choking it back when she glowers at him. Taking deep breaths, calming himself down, he meets her eyes, still smirking. "He sounds like a keeper."

She grabs the cushion from behind her and throws it at him, forceful, watching him as he deftly dodges it.

He lifts it from the floor, where it'd fallen near his feet, and places it behind his back, his smirk getting wider.

"I hate men," she repeats, leaning her back against the armrest of the couch.

"Aww, Mon, it'll be okay." He pulls her feet onto his lap, and squeezes them comfortingly. "You know the deal – you have to kiss a few frogs to get to your prince."

"What if I end up _with_ a frog, Chandler," she sighs, reclining on the couch, adjusting her feet on his lap. "Or worse, what if I end up being a lonely, ugly, old lady frog?"

He frowns at that mental image, but turns his attention back to her again. "Now you're just being ridiculous," he says gently. "You're not going to end up with a frog, nor are you going to end up _being _a frog, okay?"

"I'll find my prince?" she looks at him for reassurance.

He nods, moving to lie down behind her, nudging her to move forward. "Yeah."

She turns around to face him, tucking her head beneath his chin. "I'll find my soul mate?"

"Yes, Mon," he murmurs, pressing his lips to her hair.

"I want what Ross and Rachel had, you know?" she sighs again, lifting her head to look at him. "I want what they both had before they fucked it all up. I want to fall in love with my best friend."

"You want to fall in love with me?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow, looking confused.

She chuckles. "You wish."

"I do wish," he nods solemnly, but smiles a moment later to let her know that he's kidding. "You want to fall in love with Rachel?" he grins lewdly.

"For the millionth time, I really am not into women, gutter boy," she smacks his arm.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you what, you'll find your prince, your soul mate - who's preferably also your friend?" he looks at her for confirmation.

She nods.

"Okay, 'your prince, your soul mate, your friend' is-" he stops abruptly. "Hey, that's kinda neat! You could turn it into a wedding vow!"

"I need to find the guy first, Chandler."

"Yeah, okay, right," he nods. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and assure you that 'your prince, your soul mate, your friend' is out there somewhere, waiting to sweep you off your feet." He wraps an arm around her in a tight embrace. "Who knows, maybe he's even within your arm's reach right now," he winks at her suggestively.

"Yeah, who knows?" she laughs, kissing his cheek. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They remain quiet for several moments before she breaks the silence. "Hey, you know what would really help me through this tough time?"

He knows this tone. He knows it all too well. It's her 'Manipulative Monica' tone.

"What?" he asks her warily.

"Having my apartment back," she gives him a pleading look.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no," he shakes his head, pulling away from her, sitting up. "No, no, no, no, no. You're _not_ getting it back this way."

"Oh, come on..." she whines, also sitting up. "If you think about the whole thing, it's kinda been like a vacation for all four of us. You guys now know what it's like to live in a great apartment, and Rachel and I now know what it's like to live in a shitty one. I think it's time we ended the vacation and went back to our respective apartments," she nods persuasively.

"Mon, honey, you're really, _really_ not gonna break me," he pats her head, smiling.

"I can't do it any longer, Chandler," her whining intensifies almost instantly. "I cannot stand the fact that my door is cut in half. I cannot stand the fact that I find a dead, decaying animal or a rotting vegetable every time I open a drawer. I hate that most of the switches there do _NOTHING. _I hate it that I have to take a cold shower every morning. I hate the-"

"Mon-" he tries to stop her, even though he's amazed that she's got such a long list prepared.

"I hate the singing guy from the next building," she continues, unperturbed. "I _hate_ that I have to sleep in your bed; I sleep on the floor most nights. I hate-"

"Whoa, whoa!" he exclaims, stopping her rant insistently. "Why did you say you _hate_ sleeping in my bed?!" he asks, offended.

"Chandler, it's not the bed," she shakes her head. "It's the mattress. You took my mattress, and _your_ mattress..." she trails of, shrugging. "It smells like boy!" she cries.

His expression clears, and he nods understandingly. "Okay, I can give you back your mattress if you want. And," he pauses, raising an eyebrow, looking at her seriously, "I'd prefer it if you used the term 'man' instead of 'boy'."

She frowns. "Why, what's wrong with 'boy'?" she tilts her head to one side. "'Boys' are cute. 'Men' are _not_."

"_CUTE!" _he exclaims again, looking even more offended. "You're giving me _'cute'_?!"

"Again now, what's wrong with 'cute'?" she looks perplexed.

"Nothing..." he shrugs, suddenly finding the texture of the couch very fascinating. "It's just, I'd prefer 'handsome, rugged, hunky man' to 'cute'. I mean, 'men' are _not_ 'cute'. They're supposed to be 'rugged' and 'handsome'."

He's kidding. He has _got_ to be kidding.

Oh, God, is he serious?!

She snickers, but stops when he looks at her sharply. "How about 'handsome, rugged, _chunky _man'?" she asks, smiling sweetly.

"Hey!"

"What's wrong now?"

"You called me 'chunky'!"

"I also called you 'handsome' and 'rugged'," she points out, watching him as he frowns at her.

She cannot hold it in anymore. He can be so adorably cute sometimes.

She laughs, leaning forward to hug him tightly. "You are not hunky, Chandler," she shakes her head. "You're not rugged, either."

"I'm not?" he asks, shocked, stroking his lightly stubbled cheek.

She shakes her head again.

"You just know the right things to say to stroke my ego, don't you?"

"You're handsome, though," she nods.

"Oh, yeah?" he grins at her widely, suddenly looking pleased with himself.

"Yeah," she murmurs, nodding. She places her feet on the floor and stands up. She bends down, framing his face in her hands, and presses her lips against his forehead. "You're _not_ rugged, you're _not_ hunky-" She cuts him off as he starts to protest again. "But you're cute, you're sweet. You're _my_ Chandler, and I love you," she smiles down at him, her smile getting wider when his own lips curve into a genuine, heartwarming smile. "Isn't that better than anything else?" she asks rhetorically.

He nods.

Yes, it's better than _everything_ else.

~.~

**~.~Savor~.~**

"Pretzel," Monica murmurs to her sleeping husband, "the baby wants a pretzel."

"Hmm." His eyes still closed, Chandler turns on his side to envelope his wife in a bear hug, pulling her closer to him.

He is somewhere between being awake and asleep - that moment where everything seems perfect and comfortable, and you don't want to move even a single muscle – but he still cannot help smiling widely when the slight swell of her pregnant belly presses gently against his abdomen.

First-time pregnant and nineteen weeks along - They'd made a baby together.

"Soft pretzel," she adds as an afterthought. "And maybe some banana pancakes. The baby _loves_ your banana pancakes."

"I love you, too, honey," he mumbles sleepily, making her frown.

"I said, 'The baby loves your banana pancakes'," she pokes him in the side in an attempt to wake him up, "not 'I love _you'."_

"Ow!" he yelps in pain, finally fully awake, his eyes snapping open. "God, woman! Don't you know that I bruise like a peach?" he rubs the spot, moving away from her slightly. "And you don't love me anymore?" he asks her after a few seconds, his glare turns into a pout.

"Aww, honey," she murmurs, smiling, leaning in to kiss him on the lips. "Of course I love you." Her lips move along his cheek and jaw line as she places a series of sloppy, wet kisses. "I mean, you make _the _best banana pancakes in the world. How could anyone not love you?"

"Do you realize that you're French kissing my cheek?" he asks, amused.

"Mm hmm," she sighs. "I'm fantasizing about my soft pretzel. You're my soft pretzel."

"You're hungry," he observes, watching her as she nods.

"Like you wouldn't believe," she says, unbuttoning his pajama shirt, kissing the exposed skin.

"You're horny," he laughs.

"Like you wouldn't believe," she repeats.

"Maybe we should something about either?" he asks, placing her hand on her belly, caressing it gently.

"Maybe," she murmurs, continuing to unbutton his shirt. She glances at the clock on the nightstand, and it reads 4:33. No wonder the twins are still asleep.

The thing about closed curtains is that it helps you lose all sense of time. She wonders why she's awake at four-thirty in the morning; why _he's _awake at four-thirty in the morning.

Well, probably because she'd woken him up.

"It's so quiet with the kids asleep," he murmurs, pulling her closer to him, his hand firmly pressing against her abdomen.

The baby had kicked for the first time a week back, and she still remembers the euphoric grin that he'd worn the entire week.

As though knowing that its mother is thinking about it, the baby kicks again now, and she watches as his grin returns. She smiles back, placing her own hand over his.

"Baby's kicking," he whispers giddily, slipping his hand beneath her nightshirt. They stare at each other as they feel their baby move restlessly inside of her. "How does it feel to know that there's this tiny, _tiny_ person growing inside of you?" he asks her in the same hushed tone, his words tinged with awe.

She laughs lightly. "It's okay, I guess," she shrugs. "Most times, it's incredible. Sometimes, it's overwhelming." She watches him quietly for a second.

He is overwhelmed, too. The fact that he is responsible for four lives other than his own sometimes makes him pause and reel. But he would have it no other way. He knows she wouldn't, either.

He removes his hand from her belly and wraps his arms around her, pulling her even closer.

She sighs contentedly, closing her eyes.

These are the moments that she relishes the most - where the boundary of what they _are_ becomes unclear and fuzzy - they are husband and wife, they are lovers, they are each other's confidant, and they are best friends, all at once.

They are a couple in every sense of the word.

She wants to make this moment last; she wants to savor it for as long as she possibly can.

But the baby apparently has other plans for them. "The baby wants a pretzel. Soft pretzel," she repeats after several seconds of silence when she feels the baby kick again.

He chuckles. "Aren't you supposed to be horny?"

"I'm actually predominantly hungry," she murmurs back.

"That's a pretty impressive vocabulary at four-thirty in the morning," he comments as he moves to get off the bed, his half-unbuttoned shirt hanging loosely on his shoulders.

"Where are you going?" she reaches for his arm and clutches it tightly. "Don't go."

"Banana pancake, honey?" he reminds her.

She nods, letting go of his arm reluctantly. "Banana pancake," she repeats.

"Don't fall asleep, though, okay?"

"'Kay," she nods. "Chandler?" she calls out to him, just as he's about to leave the room.

"Yeah, Mon," he returns to her side and kneels down beside the bed.

"Soft pretzel?" she asks worriedly.

"Once the sun rises," he promises, smiling.

She turns on her side, wrapping an arm around his neck. She giggles softly, her eyes childlike and playful. "You love me," she whispers.

He smiles back, kissing the tip of her nose. "Why do you think I'm making banana pancakes at four-thirty in the morning?"

~.~.~

_A/N: God, I love writing pregnant Mondler._

_Anyway, ever since I posted that last chapter of If it's Love, I've received at least 25 emails for author/story favorite and/or alert for one story or the other – which is very flattering, believe me. But if you could maybe show the same kind of enthusiasm towards reviewing, Cynthia would be eternally happy. Two minutes of your time - not too much to ask, I hope._


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